


always, sometimes

by falsettodrop



Series: Frequencies [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15680646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop
Summary: Five times Tessa receives a text from Scott over the years, plus one time he gets one from her.





	always, sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this little thing because it was taking far too long to finish some of my more elaborate fics, and I wanted to post something before I go on vacation. I figured I’d gauge the interest in ficdom with something less daunting. I’m excited to write more when I return, and I look forward to hearing what you think.
> 
> Also, just a teensy FYI: in this fic, Scott and Tessa text with proper grammar, and despite Scott not being a huge texter, he still does it. (Because I said so, that’s why.)

**i**. _two thousand and seven_.

 

It’s one in the morning and she can’t sleep.

There’s this restless feeling inside of her, one that has been building for weeks. She’s angry at the irony of her life. If she skates too little, she won’t be prepared for their next competition. If she skates too much, she’s overexerting herself. How do they expect her to figure out what the right amount is supposed to be? She’s only just turned eighteen; eighteen barely constitutes as an adult.

She’d been able to ignore the pain for the past few weeks, but when Scott let her down from a rotational lift a couple days ago, she forgot to cover up her wincing and both Marina and Scott had noticed.

Marina, shockingly, told her to take it easy the next two weeks. This was unusual for Marina, who is typically quite strict, so Tessa took her word seriously and only practices at the rink for three hours a day. Which is a mind-numbingly _low_ amount, considering how much she needs to practice for their upcoming season.

Scott, on the other hand, was annoyed with her. _Why wouldn’t you tell us this?_ He kept asking Tessa. _Why would you go through that alone? We’re supposed to be a team!_

She hates when Scott is angry at her. She knows she deserves it this time, and that she should have been honest, but it still hurt when he spoke to her in that low tone. Much too calm, which meant he was on the verge of snapping any second.

She’s so incredibly frustrated. It’s the numbness she forces upon herself in her legs when she skates, attempting to be mind over matter about the pain she’s been experiencing. It’s the dull ache that’s been subsiding throughout the past week. It’s the stilted conversations between her and Scott this week.

When she and Scott aren’t okay, they don’t skate well. She can suck up the pain of her legs if it means she and Scott won’t fight, and she has been. Sometimes she feels like she can control how much pain she feels with her mind. It’s basic psychology to her.

But she can’t control Scott, and how he feels, and how what he feels makes her feel.

(It’s fucking ridiculous and complicated, is what it is. The pain she internalizes from this Scott situation is much worse than the damn shin problems.)

So, now she can’t sleep. And it’s one in the morning, and she should really _be_  asleep.

 _Another sleepless night_ , she tells herself in preparation, and breathes deeply.

Agitated, she opens her eyes and blindly reaches for her BlackBerry on the side table. Pressing the power button, she waits for it to turn on again. She always turns her phone off before she goes to bed, not wanting to be distracted by the vibrations.

When it turns on, she sees three unread messages in her inbox, as well as one unread mail. She reads the email first, but it’s only a practice schedule for next week. When she opens her inbox, her eyes immediately latch onto the first name there. Scott.

Scott has texted her? He’s barely spoken to her outside of practice and breakfast this week. 

> **Scott Moir** (12:33 AM)  
>  Are you asleep?

Hm. Interesting. No, she isn’t, but it’s currently forty-five minutes past when he originally sent that, so he’s likely dead asleep by now. A chance to talk has been missed. Damn it.

She replies anyway, knowing that she might as well since she could forget to in the morning.  

> **Tessa Virtue** (1:16 AM)  
>  Yes.  
>  Kidding. Obviously.  
>  Sorry for the late reply. My phone was off.

She sighs, dropping her phone to her chest. If only her phone was on, she would’ve seen his text and they could have properly talked, and they wouldn’t have this weird aura around them anymore, and ugh, Tessa is never turning off her phone _ever_ again after this—

And then it vibrates in her hand again, twice, and her heart surges. 

> **Scott Moir** (1:18 AM)  
>  It’s okay.  
>  Why are you still up?
> 
> **Tessa Virtue** (1:19 AM)  
>  Couldn’t sleep.

She fidgets, knowing she should probably give him more than that, but debating the idea back and forth in her mind. Their fight _was_ about being honest. But she finds it difficult to be vulnerable, even with Scott who is her best friend.   

> **Tessa Virtue** (1:21 AM)  
>  I’m stressed.
> 
> **Scott Moir** (1:22 AM)  
>  Yeah. You seemed like it at practice today.  
>  I am too.  
>  I don’t know what I did, T.

She swallows hard. He’s being vague, but she can kind of gather what he means by that. And she really, really doesn’t want to have this conversation, but maybe it’s important that they try to.   

> **Tessa Virtue** (1:24 AM)  
>  You didn’t do anything...  
>  I didn’t want to worry anyone and it wasn’t even that bad. I figured I would suck it up and it would go away in a couple days.
> 
> **Scott Moir** (1:27 AM)  
>  I know. I know you, I get why you kept it from me. That’s what’s so frustrating.  
>  But next time, if there is a next time, can you please tell me?  
>  That’s the beauty of being partners, Tess. You don’t have to do it alone.

God, Scott is such a sap. And so is she, secretly, because reading that she isn’t alone is making her tear up.

(She’s sleep deprived and restless and she’s had a bad week. Forgive her.)    

> **Tessa Virtue** (1:28 AM)  
>  I will, I promise.  
>  I’m still stressed out, though.

About the competitions. About their programs. About her legs, and her shins, and her doctor’s appointments. About Marina and Igor and how rigorous the practices are getting, inching closer to the Olympics. If they want to go to the Olympics, they need to win their next two Worlds, and if they don’t then there’s barely even a chance—  

> **Scott Moir** (1:31 AM)  
>  Haha. When are you not worrying?  
>  Go sleep. We’ll figure it out when we wake up. Together.

She smiles, reading the last word. _Together_ , she thinks to herself, and repeats it like a mantra.  

> **Tessa Virtue** (1:32 AM)  
>  OK. Night, Scott
> 
> **Scott Moir** (1:33 AM)  
>  Love you, Virtch

Knowing that, she is a little less anxious about what is to come.

 

 

 **ii**. _two thousand and eight_.

 

 _Fuck this_ , Tessa thinks to herself bitterly as she exits her physiologist appointment, angrily shouldering her bag. Her mother is silent beside her, as patient and kind as she has been the past three months after she had her surgery. She’s one of the few stable things in Tessa’s life right now.

Sadly, Scott is not one of them.

She sits in her car on the way home, and allows her mind to wander, repeating the things that she can’t seem to stop thinking about.

What is the fucking _point_ of going to these appointments, or even trying to get better, if things with her and Scott are falling apart?

He ignored her for two months. Months! Not days, not weeks, _months_. They haven’t gone that long without talking since they first became friends and holding a proper conversation was impossible.

To make matters worse, she knows that he practiced with other girls while she was gone. He had fucking partner tryouts. Not that he told her. She had to find out from a gossip in the ladies change room the week she returned to the ice.

 _She_ couldn’t do it. _She_ couldn’t skate with anyone other than him. She wouldn’t even attempt it, because she knows it would be such a colossal failure.

But clearly he can. In fact, he tried.

(He tried to replace her.)

Worst of all, he doesn’t even know that she knows. Because they don’t fucking talk.

They’re polite, and civil, and sweet to each other. As if they’re strangers, or acquaintances. Like casual fucking Canadians.

But below it all, there’s a fire that burns in Tessa to rip him apart, piece by piece. To cut him open, shamelessly and aggressively, and ask:

_Why didn’t you call me? Why did you barely text me? Why didn’t you visit me in the hospital? Why didn’t you visit me at home? Why did you shut me out? Why are you mad at me? Why did you skate with other girls?_

_Aren’t we supposed to be best friends? You sure as hell aren’t treating me that way._

_(Am I no longer good enough for you, now that I can’t skate well? I want to be good enough for you. I’m so sorry, Scott. I tried. I want to be good enough. Please don’t leave me.)_

She has these one-sided conversations with him, over and over again in her head, until it physically makes her sick and she has to consciously remind herself to turn her brain off.

It’s not right, but one of the ways she does so is by flirting with Fedor. Charming Fedor, who she shouldn’t be flirting with for a multitude of reasons: he is Marina’s son, he is much older than her, he is her mentor, he flirts with everyone. She is not special to him.

He is so far from Scott. Scott, who touches her as if she is glass, like she is something precious, who always keeps her on a pedestal. Scott, who treats her like there is a metaphorical podium in his mind for the most important people in his life, and she is always there in the gold medal spot, unwavering and secure.

Scott, who wears his heart on his sleeve, and ignored her for months. Scott, who makes her laugh, and makes it easier for her to share her heart. Scott. Her best friend.

Fedor doesn’t remind her of him at all, and she welcomes it.

Her life is truly falling apart. She blinks away the stinging in her eyes when she’s parked in the driveway in front of her house.

“Tessa, honey, there’s dinner in the fridge. I’m going to your aunt’s house for a bit,” her mother says gently, “Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replies emotionless, gathering her things. She steps out of the vehicle, and maybe slams the door unnecessarily hard. She shouldn’t take it out on the car, or her mother.

It’s only when she’s inside, heating up some tomato soup in the microwave, that she checks her phone. He has texted her  _eight times_ , and she really should not open it in the mood that she’s in, but curiosity gets the best of her.   

> **Scott Moir** (8:33 PM)  
>  Tess. I’m a bit drunk and I probably shouldn’t say this right now  
>  But can we hang out sometime soon  
>  Please  
>  I’m so fucking sorry about everything  
>  You are my best friend  
>    
>  **Scott Moir** (8:48 PM)  
>  Are we not best friends anymore?
> 
> **Scott Moir** (8:55 PM)  
>  Have I lost you? Over this?  
>    
>  **Scott Moir** (9:03 PM)  
>  Fuck

‘Fuck’ is right. She doesn’t even know how to reply to that.

Scott barely texts her on a regular basis when they’re on good terms, so this is a bit unprecedented. And he’s drunk, too. Because of course he is.

“Screw you, Scott Moir,” she whispers harshly, in the privacy of her home. She wouldn’t ever say that to his face, but she’s pissed right now and she won’t be hurting anyone by saying it to herself. So, ha. There.

She pettily turns off her phone, finishes her tomato soup, and decides to watch _Sex and the City_. Just to spite him.

Once she finishes three whole episodes and three hours have passed, she turns her phone on again and wonders what she will reply.

 _You don’t feel like my best friend right now_ , she thinks she could say. _I don’t know if you’ve lost me_. _I hate this, Scott. You are my best friend, too. I’m sorry, too._

She wants so badly to say all of these things. She wants to fix things between them. She wants him back.

But more than anything, she wants to sleep. And that carefully constructed wall she has built around herself throughout the past few months, the one she added a brick to every hour he spent ignoring her, and the one she finished building once she found out about the other girls... It takes more than eight drunk texts for her to start chipping away at it.

Her fingers ache as she types her reply.  

> **Tessa Virtue** (12:08 AM)  
>  Hey, Scott. I hope you’re alright now.  
>  Drink water when you wake up.  
>  You haven’t lost me.  
>  I just need some time.

She is so, so tired. So, she goes to sleep.

 

 

 **iii**. _twenty eleven_.

 

Four Continents is a disaster.

Tessa thought she could do it, she really did. Their short dance went well, they were in the _lead_ , but her damn quad started to spasm as she came out of that lift. Her stupid body has ruined it for them once again. They could have had a great competition after being out for most of the season, and she’s ruined it for them.

Scott was being so nice about it, too. Talking about how it isn’t her fault, and how she shouldn’t push herself, and that they should take this nice and easy. And how he didn’t care that they have to withdraw, it truly didn’t matter to him, they could just try again next time.

She hates how sweet he can be sometimes.

She’s dreading having to speak at the press conference. They sit at the back, waiting for the announcers to finish speaking. They should be up soon, and she’s tapping her foot mindlessly when her phone buzzes in her jacket pocket. 

> **Scott Moir** (7:15 PM)  
>  Hi

Tessa looks up from her seat at the conference and catches Scott’s eye. He’s standing against the wall next to her, and from the look on his face, has been waiting for her reaction to his text. 

> **Tessa Virtue** (7:16 PM)  
>  Why are you texting me when we’re like two meters away from each other

She sneaks a glance at him reading the text, watches him attempt to reply as stealthily as possible.  

> **Scott Moir** (7:17 PM)  
>  Because it’s rude to talk out loud when you’re at a press event? Jeez T, aren’t Canadians supposed to know about this little thing called manners?

She giggles aloud, and then claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh, eyes bulging when she realizes her mistake. Only a few people seem to take notice and turn in the direction of the noise, and Tessa turns to glare at Scott whose face is buried in his elbow, shoulders shaking as he laughs at her mishap.    

> **Tessa Virtue** (7:19 PM)  
>  You are the worst, Moir  
>  Stop making me laugh! Behave yourself, we are almost on
> 
> **Scott Moir** (7:21 PM)  
>  It’s not my fault you’re a laugh slut, Tess

Her mouth drops open, and she turns to look at him at that, and gives him the most affronted look she can possibly muster. He purses his lips at her reaction, as if he would lose it if he didn’t physically hold himself back.    

> **Tessa Virtue** (7:22 PM)  
>  What is a laugh slut, and why am I it?
> 
> **Scott Moir** (7:23 PM)  
>  A laugh slut. Someone who laughs at almost anything
> 
> **Tessa Virtue** (7:25 PM)  
>  Excuse me, I am not a laugh slut  
>  And I don’t laugh at almost anything
> 
> **Scott Moir** (7:26 PM)  
>  Yes you do. You laugh at every joke I make, and everything I do
> 
> **Tessa Virtue** (7:27 PM)  
>  Yes, because it’s you, Scott  
>  Only you make me laugh like that

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and sees him suppressing a fond smile. 

> **Scott Moir** (7:28 PM)  
>  Okay. If you aren't a laugh slut, then what exactly are you?

Tessa reads his text and immediately thinks in reply, _I guess I’m just a laugh slut for you_ , and promptly turns red. Nope, she cannot say that. That is a highly inappropriate thing to say to your platonic best friend slash ice dance partner. When she looks at Scott to see if he has noticed, he’s already squinting at her in question, and back to typing on his phone. 

> **Scott Moir** (7:28 PM)  
>  Tess? Are you okay?   
>  Why are you red
> 
> **Tessa Virtue** (7:30 PM)  
>  No reason

And then puts her phone back in her pocket, signifying a clear end to the conversation. Scott follows suit, confused, and that’s that.

 _I hate you_ , Tessa whispers to her brain, and waits for their names to be called.

Two minutes later, when she stands up, she realizes that her mind is so far beyond what happened at the competition. And then she realizes that was his goal all along.

They slip into their seats and she shoots him a grateful smile, and he simply rubs her shoulders and winks at her in response. He always has her back.

 

 

 **iv**. _twenty thirteen_.

 

She is losing her goddamn mind and it is all his fault.

Or, well, maybe it’s Marina’s fault. Because she choreographed this program and all it does it make her tense, makes them tense, because they’re constantly touching each other. In places they don’t normally touch. Firmly, surely, with intent and implication.

It’s not that this is new, necessarily. They’ve always been in constant physical contact. It kind of comes with the sport, and the politics surrounding it. They have to prove their chemistry and convince people they’re compatible—not just on the ice, but at practices, and in interviews.

But something is so different this time. Carmen is raw, physical, and passionate. It’s as if they’re crossing a line that she wasn’t even aware had existed in the first place.

( _On the ice. On the ice. On the ice._ She plays it on repeat like a shitty top-forty song in her head.)

She has a boyfriend, she tells herself. Sort of. Ryan and her are dating, but not necessarily exclusive, and she only sees him on occasion, when it is convenient for them both. So it’s not like he can even scratch this insane itch of hers that—God, she doesn’t want to admit it, but there it is—that Scott has brought out in her. 

She hasn’t ever allowed herself to think of Scott in this way, not really. Tessa is the queen of suppression, and she rarely allows herself to succumb to irrational desires and feelings. If she’s stone cold, she is not vulnerable, and she is safe.

But in Carmen, she embodies a character that is anything but suppressed, and she finds herself seeping into her—into Carmen. She and Carmen are morphing into one, and she doesn’t know where she ends and Carmen begins. It’s almost like she was there all along, waiting for Tessa to come out and play.

She hates it.

 _It’s because of the program_ , Tessa reminds herself. _It’s because I’m doing the program with Scott. If I was doing it with, say, Charlie, I would feel the same way._

(It’s idiotic rationality at its finest.)

Their practice today was the worst of them all. Worlds is coming up soon, and they keep going over the ending, where she, um, gyrates on his hips with her legs around him.

She groans aloud. How this program is even allowed on the ice is beyond her.

She’s lying face down in her bed when he texts her. She doesn’t know it’s him. But at the same time, she does. She feels it inside of her.

It’s also way too late for him to be texting her, she realizes. These days, they only interact in the safety of daylight.

She holds her breath, and opens the text. 

> **Scott Moir** (10:53 PM)  
>  So I’m at a bar

Tessa stares at it.

So? He’s at a bar?

Wait, there’s more. 

> **Scott Moir** (10:53 PM)  
>  And this girl is flirting with me

Ugh. Why would he tell her this?  

> **Scott Moir** (10:54 PM)  
>  She kind of looks like you

Oh.

Tessa’s fingers beg her to reply. She shouldn’t. Or maybe she should. What’s the harm? She can play it cool. Right? Right. 

> **Tessa Virtue** (10:55 PM)  
>  Haha. Is that weird?

_Is it, Scott? Is it?_

She desperately wants to know, but she does not know, for the life of her, which response would be worse. 

> **Scott Moir** (10:56 PM)  
>  Yes and no

She shouldn’t. But she does anyway. 

> **Tessa Virtue** (10:56 PM)  
>  Explain

She should turn her phone off right now. She shouldn’t encourage him, because he is the biggest wild card she knows, and also the most predictable. Scott is impulsive and brave and unashamedly wears his thoughts on his face like he doesn’t give a shit. It terrifies her. 

> **Scott Moir** (10:59 PM)  
>  It’s weird because I still want her

God, why did she ask?

They talk about these things sometimes, sex things, but they haven’t in months. For a very valid reason.    

> **Scott Moir** (11:00 PM)  
>  But mostly I think it’s weird because she isn’t you

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She knew she couldn’t trust him to keep his honesty to himself.

She flings her phone across the room, grabs her vibrator, and reaches in her underwear to find herself already wet. She gasps.

God, she hates him. She hates his firm hands, and his strong thighs, and the way he looks at her on the ice like he wants her to eat him alive. She hates what he’s implying—that he wants to fuck this random girl for the sole reason that she looks like Tessa, because he can’t have her, because they can’t cross that line, even if telling her that he wants to fuck a girl because she looks like Tessa is crossing so many lines itself. She hates that he’s going to fuck some random girl. She hates that she wants him to, to thrust into this girl desperate for her and think to himself  _Tessa Tessa Tessa_ and struggle to stop himself from saying her name. She hates that he wants her so much that if he can’t have her he’ll fuck this random girl that looks like her, just to be close to her, just to imagine he’s fucking her. She hates that he wants to fuck her. She hates that she wants to fuck him. She hates him, she hates him, she—

She exhales, shaky and satisfied, and promptly shuts her brain off again.  

> **Tessa Virtue** (11:07 PM)  
>  Yes it’s always weird when we find people who look like the other but it isn’t actually the other haha

It doesn’t even make sense as a reply. But if she plays it off, nothing changes. It doesn’t matter that they both know he wasn’t joking. It doesn’t matter.

(God, it’s everything, but they can’t. They really, really can’t.)  

> **Scott Moir** (11:09 PM)  
>  Yes. The weirdest  
>  Miss you. See you tomorrow

Like clockwork.

 _Miss you_ , she rereads. _Miss you like a limb_ , she returns telepathically. She knows he can feel the sentiment, even if she doesn’t type it out, even if she obviously rejected him. He knows how she feels. She shuts off her phone and decides to go to sleep. They have practice again tomorrow.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

 

 

 **v**. _twenty fifteen_.

 

 _I’m so tired of wanting you_ , the text says, staring back at her.

She received it thirty five minutes ago, and still doesn’t know how to respond. She is quite literally blank in the head.

It’s a random sentence in a very lengthy text from Scott.  

> **Scott Moir** (9:03 PM)  
>  Hey. So listen. I know I’ve been a disaster this year. I’m trying to be okay. I’m trying so hard to do this thing. The retirement thing. But the truth is that it fucking sucks. I don’t want to say that to scare you, or guilt you into anything you don’t want to do, but I can tell that you miss it too. I saw it on your face the last time we were together. If I’m wrong and you want to officially retire, I will do it. But I want to keep you. That’s what I want.  
>    
>  Everything with Kaitlyn is such a mess right now. She’s angry because she wants me to move to fucking Winnipeg, and I said I don’t know what I want or I can do it. But that’s a lie. I do know. I’m telling you what I want right now. Kaitlyn has been great. She puts up with me, and that’s more than I can ask for in anyone, because I know I’m a lot. Especially after all the shit I put her through during the past year.  
>    
>  But, T, more than I want to fix my relationship, I just miss everything so much. I miss winning things with you. I miss winning. I miss hanging out with you, especially when we’re not in public. I miss your ridiculous movies, and the pleased look you get on your face when I cook you a meal that isn’t eggs or toast. I miss you. I miss being with you. I’m so tired of wanting you. God, Tess, I really need to talk to you. Can we meet for coffee, maybe next week? Maybe you can think about everything I’ve said. We can reconsider competing next season. Think about it. Please.

It’s… a lot.

It may as well have been an email. He typed it in paragraph format. She wonders how many times he read it before he sent it.

Here’s the thing: Scott isn’t one to text. Throughout their friendship, he’s always been weird with technology. Has always prefered face to face conversations. Sure, they’ve texted in the darkest of times, and the lightest of times. For fun, and for serious stuff. Sometimes for safety, because saying things through text was easier than saying it out loud.

So this. This is a lot.

First: _I want to keep you_. _That’s what I want_.

He’s an idiot, because he’s always had her. Even if it is as a best friend. She’s never allowed herself to open up to another person, another _man_ , in place of him. He fulfilled all the empty places in her life. He was everything she needed; of course he can keep her.

Second: _I’m so tired of wanting you_.

She is, too. Her limbs burn from constantly holding back.

But, obviously, last: _We can reconsider competing next season_.

He can keep her. He can want her.

But if they’re going to compete again—

(And she wants to. God, she want to. She yearns to go back and conquer alongside him, tear apart their competitors and annihilate their rivals. She wants to destroy them all by his side, and show them that they can do it. That they belong on the ice together, that they can reinvent themselves and their sport and make it better. They can make each other better, and they can make ice dance better.)

If they’re going to compete again—he cannot have her. She cannot have him.

The concepts are incompatible: achieving a successful, dominating comeback, and finally giving into what they want.

They must wait. They can have this first, and then they can have that. 

She replies, stumbling, and much less eloquent, but with equal honesty.  

> **Tessa Virtue** (9:45 PM)  
>  Yes. I agree.  
>  With all of it.  
>  I think we can figure something out...  
>  Forget next week. Coffee tomorrow, at 2pm?

_Two more years_ , she thinks to herself, determined. They can do this.

 

 

 **+i.** _twenty seventeen_.

 

Tonight, Tessa has decided that she is going to have sex.

Well, actually, her friends decided that for her. A part of her agrees. It’s been a long time since she last slept with someone, and she does miss it.

The complicated part is this: Tessa is either completely detached about sex, or overly emotional. There is no in between.

And right now? She is feeling sentimental.

She hasn’t had sex in so long—not since her last ‘relationship’, if you can call it that. It was barely anything special, and it wasn’t a very emotional experience. That ended in 2016, when she couldn’t keep up with both him and competing. Over a year ago.

She has been so focused on skating, and dominating the ice dance world, and Scott, that she has barely had time to really think about sex.

(She’s barely had time, and she’s had far too much of it.)

She sits at the bar beside her friends, off in her own world. She knows she’s supposed to try to be present, and she is trying.

The very premise of this night annoys her, for some reason. A part of her wants to have sex tonight—detached sex with a random, hot guy. But a bigger part of her craves to just sit next to Scott on his couch and listen to him make fun of her Little Mermaid pajamas while they watch _Bloodsport_ for the millionth time. Even though she doesn’t like that movie very much.

She sips at her mixed drink and stirs idly, remembering the text Scott sent to her earlier. _Have fun tonight, kiddo_ , sent at nine o’clock on the dot.

It bothered her more than anything.

Here’s the thing: Tessa doesn’t go out. She is introverted at heart, and would rather stay at home and read a book or watch television than drink and go to a bar. But tonight she decided to, for the first time in a while. And come on, Scott has _got_ to know what could possibly happen.

She gnaws at her lip. _Isn’t he worried? Doesn’t he care that she might go off with someone tonight?_

( _Someone that isn’t him?_ )

She supposes not, from his ever-so-casual message.

She finishes her drink, and fishes her phone out of her purse.

Here’s the other thing: Tessa is tipsy, and feeling sentimental. This can only end in so many ways.

She’s tipsy, and she’s held back for so long. She began from the moment she truly started to notice Scott. Notice the way he looked at her, and the way she felt about him.

He may be the impulsive one between them, but tonight Tessa can feel a fire alight within her. She wants to take a page from his book.

Scott has always been so open with her, but it’s only sometimes that she has returned the gesture. Solely because for her, it is that much harder, because she feels so much.

She keeps her emotions locked up inside her chest, in a box which only she can open if she so chooses, and she almost never does. She has tried to repress that box and forget it exists for years.

But tonight, she yearns to grab the key. So, she does.

She can’t believe she still remembers it. (Of course she does. It’s in the box, alongside everything else.) She wonders if he does. 

> **Tessa Virtue** (10:55 PM)  
>  So I’m at a bar  
>  And this guy is flirting with me
> 
> **Scott Moir** (10:59 PM)  
>  Is that so?
> 
> **Tessa Virtue** (10:59 PM)  
>  Yes

It’s a lie, obviously, but fuck it. She hopes he understands where she’s going with this. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he acts the way she did when he attempted this very thing with her four years ago. But they were emotionally stunted and sexually frustrated back then. This is neither of those things.

She takes the plunge.  

> **Tessa Virtue** (11:01 PM)  
>  He looks nothing like you  
>  And he isn’t you  
>  I wish he was  
>  No, I don’t wish he was you  
>  I wish you were you

Tessa reads it back to herself, silent cursing her inability to communicate in a productive manner, and attempts to clarify.   

> **Tessa Virtue** (11:03 PM)  
>  Wait, that doesn’t even make sense  
>  What I mean is  
>  I wish you were here

_Okay_ , Tessa tells herself, eerily calm. _N_ _ow we wait_.

It takes a while. But because Scott has always been much braver than she is, he replies, succinct and wonderful.

> **Scott Moir** (11:11 PM)  
>  T. I haven’t been with anyone in two years.  
>  That isn’t a coincidence.  
>  I don’t need anyone else.

_I don’t need anyone else_ , Tessa reads, and then it hits her. Implicitly, he means, _I don’t need anyone else, when I have you_.

Deep down, Tessa has always known this in an abstract way. And also in an explicit way, because Scott has said these very words to her before but in a less serious context. But to have it confirmed in _this_ context, so truthfully and lovely... It does weird things to her insides. It makes her belly ache and eyes misty, and she is much too old to feel as giddy as she does at this moment.

“Hey, I think I’m going to go,” she says to her friends, not waiting to catch their response.

In her hand, the phone buzzes again. 

> **Scott Moir** (11:12 PM)  
>  Come home to me, silly girl

She swallows thickly, grabs her purse, and exits the bar with a singing heart.

Finally, she is going home.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on my [writing Tumblr](http://falsettodrop.tumblr.com), or for fandom posts (where I actually post about these two and figure skating), on my [sideblog](http://viewsfromthestyx.tumblr.com). It’s fun over there sometimes.


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